


called out in the dark

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 05:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16675690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: "You can look at me, you know," she says eventually, against her better judgement. "I know you said you wouldn't, but given the circumstances, I think I'd prefer that you did, just so this is less awkward."





	called out in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> There were hardly any fics for this pairing (and there needs to be). So I wrote one.

The elevator jolts. It goes dark. There's a metallic hum in the air. 

Her knees have buckled a little, her heart lurching to keep up with the motion. Meredith reaches out, finds the wall, steadies herself. She senses him behind her, just to her left, doing the same. Faint generator lights switch on quickly after, a murky ambiance taking over.

Her body is already on auto-pilot, even if her brain hasn't quite caught up yet. She jabs hopelessly at a button, any button, but already knows it'll do nothing. 

"We're stuck." She turns to him. _Him_ , of all people right now. To his credit, DeLuca - no, _Andrew_ \- looks as uncomfortable as she feels. Her arms cross her chest instinctively, defensively. He moves past her, pressing the buttons too, a little more frantic, a little less controlled. He swallows heavily before accepting their fate, and slumping against the far wall.

"The storm," he says thickly, "the power must've gone out". It's nothing, but Meredith is grateful he's trying. The dim lighting only serves to highlight the angles of his already too handsome face. She really doesn't need this right now. 

"Oh god, Cece," she says, anxiety bubbling. DeLuca frowns in turn, concern evident as he runs his hands down his face. In the silence she can hear the sound of skin against skin. It's distracting. 

"I don't think we'll be going anywhere anytime soon, Dr. Grey," he murmurs, his hands sliding behind him, grasping tightly at the handrail. There's an unease to his voice that seems uncharacteristic, deeper than just sensing the potential awkwardness of this situation. But she hasn't failed to notice that he's returned to addressing her formally, given that not half an hour ago he'd been uttering her name in that particularly passionate and earnest way of his. But, god, she doesn't need to think about that right now either.

She releases a heavy sigh, and leans against the noticeboard. Her chest hurts, her arms folded so tightly that she's slowly crushing herself from the outside. Her week has just taken yet another turn.

Meredith notices that DeLuca's staring resolutely at the floor, knuckles white. She watches his jaw twitch, remembers it from her dreams - vividly, almost intimately. He was right when he said there was something there. Physical attraction certainly was at the top of the list, Meredith knew. She can't kid herself on that front. But there was a lot to unpack, a lot to contemplate, and she'd rather not do it while they were stuck in the same metal box with no means of escape.

"You can look at me, you know," she says eventually, against her better judgement. "I know you said you wouldn't, but given the circumstances, I think I'd prefer that you did, just so this is less awkward." 

He huffs softly, a laugh perhaps, but doesn't remove his gaze from the floor.

"Dr. Grey? Can I tell you something?" His tone is wary. 

She doesn't hide her surprise. "Even more than you have already today?"

DeLuca looks up sharply, and she almost takes it back. Meredith doesn't know how she feels about being the focus of such an intense gaze. The sensation still makes her uncomfortable after all these years. But he starts shaking his head forcefully, a touch of bemusement but much more of something else that she can't put her finger on.

"No, no - I mean, I have something unrelated I should probably tell you. Outside of...uh, that situation." He looks concerned, but she feels her shoulders relax a little regardless. 

"What do you mean?"

"I'm... um. A bit... claustrophobic?" He sounds so sheepish about it that she almost laughs, but quickly stops herself. But he tracks the small smile that must make its way onto her face anyway. "I know, I know. Pathetic, right?"

"No. No!" Meredith moves, and cautiously takes position next to him. She's careful not to touch him, careful to not let his arm brush hers, even though, in this space she can already sense the warmth of his body, the smell of him. The whole thing feels both new and familiar. She doesn't know what to make of that. "It's not pathetic", she reassures him, "it's just something I didn't know about you."

He chuckles quietly. "It's not something I want to lead with, generally, you know, in life. Not very... cool." He's turned to look at her now, dark eyes staring down, twinkling, and she feels the deja vu already, the flow of something unspoken between them. She shakes it off.

"Oh, c'mon. You're very cool. You know that. You ride a motorcycle. You're cool."

He laughs properly then, deep and real, and she senses him unwind a little. "Thanks. I... I'm fine generally, you know. In elevators. But just less so when I'm not able to get out of them for long periods of time, and I'm... uh, trapped in one with someone I just confessed to have feelings for."

Meredith's heart jumps despite herself, and she tries to break away from his gaze, but it isn't as easy as she hoped. 

"Sorry, Dr. Grey. I... know you want time. I shouldn't have said that. I'm... just not thinking clearly... I mean, logically, I _know_ there is air in here, but I _feel_ like there isn't... do you know what I mean?" His words tumble over one another, a touch frantic. 

She takes charge. "Oh for goodness sake, Andrew, sit down. Please. Before you pass out, or lose your mind. It's fine, really. It's just the storm, it'll stop eventually, and they'll get us out soon enough. Far worse things have happened". She thinks of Catherine, of Richard, and swallows. She can't focus on that now. Now is not the time.

"You're right, you're right," he says, slowly lowering himself to the ground, leaning back into the wall. Meredith decides to do the same. The floor is cold, but she calmly crosses her legs, lets her hands sit loosely in her lap.

There is silence for a few long minutes. Meredith closes her eyes, listens. She can't hear anything even though she feels like she should, what with them being in the middle of a busy hospital, in the middle of a storm. She hears DeLuca breathing, senses the rise and fall of his chest beside her, even though she's still made sure they aren't touching. She feels tired, worn, like her insides are on her outside, raw and exposed. If anything, her week has only taught her that she shouldn't wait to live her life, if anything, she should be involved and present. But she also knows that what DeLuca - _Andrew_ \- has asked her to consider has repercussions that she can't simply just ignore. Even if her heart feels like there's a marching band inside of it, and it's echoing through the chambers and out into the metal box they're trapped in. 

"I had a dream about you," she blurts out, before she can censor it. Meredith feels her face go hot with embarrassment. She hopes he can't see it in the semi-darkness. But she can immediately sense his eyes on her, his body angling in her direction. His knee against her knee. She refuses to open her eyes.

"You did?"

"Yes."

"When? What? How?" His words are sharp, eager, as she struggles to articulate her next sentence. Pandora's box was well and truly open now. 

"After the wedding."

"Oh. And?"

"And what?"

"And what was the dream?" Meredith can feel the tickle of his warm breath against her ear, faint but distinctly present. 

She dares to open one eye and peek over at him, but if anything, this does nothing to stop her urge to speak. If anything, she wants to tell, she wants to confess her sins to him. But she attempts to waylay him anyway. "Are you feeling better?"

He smiles, and she melts a little despite herself, despite being a grown woman who doesn't need this complication. Doesn't need to be made weak by a man. "Dr. Grey, don't change the subject." 

"Oh, so we're back to Dr. Grey now?" Meredith can't help but tease him, even though she knows she's probably sending out all kinds of mixed signals. 

His warmth comes closer, but he makes no effort to touch her. She thinks he knows perfectly well what he's doing. He smirks a little. "Well, what did I call you in your dream?"

Meredith laughs despite herself, a full blown chuckle that echoes around them. He's laughing too, and it feels good in the circumstances - feels good to ease the tension. "Dreams, plural. Actually."

His eyebrows shoot up, surprised and his mouth turns up in a grin. "Oh really?"

"Shut up," she murmurs, turning her face up to the ceiling, determined to not given him this satisfaction, even though this is a situation entirely of her own making. If only she'd not comforted him at the wedding, if only she hadn't let him in this elevator, if only he wasn't so damn handsome, and sensitive and kind. But too little, too late, as usual. And if she was honest, she was flattered. She'd said as much to him before. Who wouldn't be flattered in her shoes? 

"You're the boss," he says in response, quietly. And it's just another thing that she likes about him. He's so damn respectful. So many men would just push her, corner her, until she had no choice but to cede to them. But not DeLuca. She feels her throat tighten, her hands curl into fists. She does want him, she knows. Truthfully, deep down. Those dreams may have been telling her that she needs to get laid, and her brain may be telling her to cautious, be sensible. But her heart is telling her that this man has something she so desperately needs, that he could be right for her.

She doesn't know what to do, to say next. Maybe nothing? Maybe that's best. His knee is still touching hers, barely, but it's there. Meredith thinks of the way he felt in her dreams. Solid and warm, strong and tender, but with an underlying urgency for her. It was strange and new, weirdly exciting to realise him there even in that twisted un-reality. But of course, that was the DeLuca of her dreams. She can't pretend to know the real thing, the real man sitting inches away.

So she changes the subject.

"How's Sam?" Meredith wants to kick herself, but she's trying to be smart, be the sensible one. She risks glancing over at him, in time enough to see the muscles in his jaw working overtime, like she's wounded him. She feels slightly bad, to throw him under the bus to save herself.

He speaks eventually, softly, at the same time languidly stretching his legs out in front of him. "I don't really know. We spoke once when she arrived in Switzerland, but decided it was easier to make a clean break of it."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know. I... I shouldn't have asked."

"It's alright," he replies, even though he doesn't really sound alright. More like she's punched him in the stomach, than anything else. "I mean, it wasn't initially - you know that. But, it's become easier. If anything, it's just made me more sure of what I want, you know, in life."

He says it in such an abstract way that Meredith knows that he isn't talking specifically about her, even if that's part of it - the unspoken part. But she sees it, sees the way he's been lately - with her, with everyone. More confident, more focused. It's undoubtedly attractive, just another attraction to add to the ever-growing list.

"I'm glad you're okay," Meredith says eventually, needing to say something in response. She feels like she's balanced on a knife edge. It's dawning on her that she's in control here, a feeling that she's so used to in her job, but so unaccustomed to in life. She's in charge, and so if anything, he'll follow her lead. But so far, much to both her relief and disappointment, he's resolutely toeing the line she's drawn for him.

He nods in response, staring ahead. She looks at the column of his neck, the taut muscles, the way his shoulders are broad and strong, but for now, slumped and motionless. She places her hand on one, meant as a gesture of comfort, but if anything he tenses under her touch, and it's hasn't been since Riggs that a man has reacted to her in that way. All the confidence she saw in DeLuca earlier today seems to have melted away under her scrutiny.

"Andrew?" she says finally, her voice curling around the unfamiliar syllables. In her head he's still DeLuca, but she likes the sound of his name on the tip of her tongue. A breath of fresh air. 

His head turns slowly, gaze strong and serious. He doesn't move towards her, doesn't even inch closer. He's put himself on the line once already today, so she knows this has to be all her this time. Her choice, her decision. 

"Meredith," he says, his steady voice just above a whisper, husky and low. It does things to her insides, because god damn it, he must know his effect on women with that face of his. But nothing of that nature shows. He just waits, barely moving, barely breathing. Watching her. 

She's trying to convince herself its a bad idea. If he wasn't so close, she probably could've done it, rationally and methodically. She's his boss, he's too young. But her brain also tells her not to be a hypocrite. She'd married her older boss, so this really has just come full circle. 

But his physical presence is too much of a temptation. So she leans, tilts her face up towards him - expecting him to meet her halfway now that her intentions are clear. And she thinks she's being pretty damn clear about them right now, as clear as she can be, sitting on the floor of an elevator. DeLuca's eyes flicker to her lips, briefly, imperceptibly, but he remains stock still. She'd be frustrated if she wasn't so impressed.

"Andrew," she says again, more forcefully, more pointedly. Meredith leans closer still, stretching her torso, so there can be no mistaking things now. Her hand tightens its grip on his shoulder, and if its hurting him, he doesn't show it. He still waits, eyes hooded, staring at her, breath shallow. She feels his body sway towards her, despite itself. She wants him to kiss her. She needs him to. In one last movement, she slides her nose against his, and this is all the permission he needs. He moves the final distance, lips finding hers. It's slow, sweet, gentle. It lasts only a few seconds before he pulls back, searching her eyes to make sure she's with him. That despite everything she had told him earlier today, that she does want this in the here and now.

He must see what he's looking for, because the next moment, his mouth is on hers again. Her breath catches in her throat, as she familiarises herself with the sensation. It's so new, so different. It has been a long time since she's been kissed properly. And to be fair, her last kiss was DeLuca too, drunk and disorientated at the wedding, and it hadn't really given her a sense of anything really - more just that his mouth was bold, and hands soft, and nothing more beyond the initial shock of his actions.

But now, _now_ she gets to feel it, be in the moment completely. She twists her body closer to him, maneuvering herself so she's on her knees beside him - the floor hard and uncomfortable. But from here, she can reach him better, slide a hand around his neck. He's already taking advantage of the situation, using her change in position to thread an arm around her back and pull her closer - and _oh_ , she'd forgotten how it feels to have a man pressed against her like this. Warm and lean and eager to touch her.

His mouth is insistent but not forceful. There's urgency there, just like in her dreams, but it is indulgent, wanting her but at the same time not wanting to rush her. He feels warm, like summer, so unlike their sterile cool surroundings. Her mouth opens in response, her breathing already embarrassingly heavy. She sighs against him, and his arm around her tightens instinctively, possessively. She feels safe there, protected. Wanted. Her tongue starts to explore gently, timidly, and he needs no further encouragement. She senses the coiled emotion in him, like he's still not fully let himself go yet - still wary of her, still waiting for her to fall back. But this taste of him is enough for her to know that she hasn't made a mistake, that the lust in her dreams weren't only the figments of an under-utilised imagination. 

Andrew lets out a stifled groan as she places one hand around his thigh, the material of his scrubs doing nothing to dampen the heat of his skin, and the tension in his muscles. But it's enough, it's exactly what it takes for him to snap, to let go. Meredith finds she has no choice when he literally tugs her into his lap, her thighs falling either side of his own. She's in control and she loves it. She feels powerful and in charge, even though he's the one who has placed her there, like placing her even higher on the pedestal he seems to have put her on. He leans up to her, lips seeking, throat exposed, and she's happy to take what he so willingly offers 

It's so good to feel wanted, to feel needed. Beyond that of a surgeon, of a sister, of a mother, she thinks hazily, in the far reaches of her mind. She's grateful to DeLuca for that, even though it's only one of the many things Meredith is thankful to him for right now. His hand traces her spine, and she shivers, and arches into him, and is rewarded with his mouth deepening against hers, until she feels she might die happy, die feeling so indescribably good and whole and right. 

His lips trail down her neck, patiently, earnestly. Her sighs echo around them, and Meredith wants to feel self-conscious, but it's too late for that really. His hands trace the hem of her scrub shirt, a finger tracing a path underneath, across her bare waist, but not upwards. It's almost innocent, apart from the fact that she can feel his reaction to her growing steadily against her, and it's at that point she truly, absolutely, gives in.

And it's at that point, the elevator jolts, the lights flicker, and they both pull apart, glancing upwards and then back at each other. 

"Is it-?" he says.

"I think we're-" she murmurs simultaneously. The elevator starts with a low rumble, and then follows the sensation of it rising.

She's quick to move, returning to her feet, her hands smoothing down her hair. She still feels his hands there, notes the way her mouth feels raw and red, and dear god, she hopes the world won't be able to tell what they've been doing - she's not ready for that.

He's on his feet too, expression undone and admittedly a bit shell-shocked. She feels his stare, revels in it too. There is unfinished business here now. The elevator continues to rise, ticking through the remaining floors like a clock counting down. This will be it for them for now, she knows. They only have seconds of privacy left.

While she has the chance she leans up, her body flush against his, and presses a gentle kiss to his mouth. It's chaste in comparison to what has come before, but DeLuca accepts it for what it is - a gesture of what has passed, a message that she's grateful, that she's not going to pretend it didn't happen. His reaction is one of relief when she pulls away, a understanding dawning on his face that they'll come back to this moment. But for now, they have work to do.

The doors ping loudly, breaking the silence, and Meredith quickly turns away, stepping out of his proximity and towards the doors. They open on a bustling hallway, their emergence barely noted. Her focus slides into place. She looks back at him quickly, just once, before stepping out.

"How's your claustrophobia now, Dr DeLuca?"

He smiles, eyes crinkling, a light from within him. "You were right, Dr Grey. I just needed to be distracted."


End file.
